


I miss those long, hot summer nights. (Hey boy!)

by snart_blerb_snerb



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Facials, Mirror Sex, Multi, Sirens, Terribly Out Of Character, Unreliable Narrator, just dudes being sirens, oops my finger slipped, this work is a mess im sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-06 06:23:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17340206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snart_blerb_snerb/pseuds/snart_blerb_snerb
Summary: just dudes being sirens, just sirens being dudes





	I miss those long, hot summer nights. (Hey boy!)

**Author's Note:**

> rog finds a human but with a dog name

Their gigs seemed to draw the people from the bar, from the bathrooms, from behind the counter, from the street. Wherever they happened to perform. It tended to be a phenomenon. Freddie rubbed a hand over his neck. Roger finally dragged his last drum to the narrow backstage, where he plopped down in a chair, his last drum to be forgotten for now. Brian and John were wiping down the strings of their respective instruments.  
Brian suddenly pulled his poodle hair out of his face and into a ponytail, the movement disturbing the hot, thick air. They were the last band to play tonight, so the radio was bound to play at any moment. It clicked on, it’s loud playing reverberating through the stage. The crowd turned their attention away from the stage as it went dark. Oh shit, this was an old song.  
You can dance, you can jive,  
having the time of your life  
Ooooh,  
See that girl, watch that scene,  
dig in the dancing queen!  
“John, listen, it’s your song.” Brian chuckled. John stood and slightly raised the body of his bass like he was going to strike the curly-haired man over the head with it. Brian didn’t flinch, and poked the head of his guitar into John’s stomach, who admitted defeat and sat back down with a loud huff.  
“Let’s blow this fucking popsicle stand, i’m tired.” Roger said, picking up his drumsticks and signaling for an attendant to help him with his drum. (Read: carry it for him).  
“You don’t want to get laid?” Freddie asked, pulling a brush and mirror from somewhere and preceding to fix his hair.  
“Did you not just hear me? Tired.” Roger mumbled, picking up John’s water bottle he left on the table and bumping into several things as an attempt to get out of the door.  
John glanced longingly at the dance floor as the chorus for Dancing Queen played.  
You are the dancing queen,  
young and sweet,  
only seventeen!  
Dancing queen,  
feel the beat from the tambourine,  
Ah yeah!  
Brian smiled as John subconsciously tapped his foot to the song, eager to go dance and get drunk.  
“You’re such a downer, Rog. Quit being such a sod!” Brian called after him as he turned the corner, mumbling a quiet response back.  
“We’re going to find him tonight passed out with some cute American girl in his bed.” Freddie hypothesized, standing and following Roger down to the bar. Brian and John carefully propped up their stringed instruments against the stone wall of the backstage, and followed as well.

The floor was crowded with hot bodies and florescent, headache giving lights. If you didn’t already have a headache from the alcohol, you did now. It was a perfect place for their species to thrive, amongst the sweaty bodies of horny young people. The trio pushed through the mass, the club very crowded at this time of night. They tried to follow the tousled mess of blond hair that kept bobbing in and out between people. Freddie pushed some random stoner who wouldn’t get out of the way fast enough.  
Roger eventually settled at the bar and didn’t order anything, waiting for his bandmates he knew wouldn’t be far behind. Some bloke angrily threw his cue stick to the ground after apparently losing pool.  
Brian claimed the seat next to Roger, his ponytail loose and fly-away hairs sticking out. Roger knew, later in the night, he would be tempted to tug on it.  
Freddie hopped into the seat on the other side of Roger before John could, and the latter punched the former’s back, the sound seemingly hollow as the sound reverberated off of Freddie’s bones. The black-haired man turned in the parlor-esque red spinny chair, and shoved John into the seat next to him.  
Roger put his head down on the cold and slightly sticky surface of the counter. Brian surveyed his options for a drink while Freddie and John escalated into a cat-fight. It stopped as a pretty bloke sat down in the empty seat next to John. The irony was that Freddie was now desperately trying to trade seats with him.  
“Order me something too.” The blond grumbled.  
“You missed your chance.” Brian said as the bartender clunked the drink down in front of him.  
Roger glanced up. “That shit is watery anyway.”  
“Excuse me for trying not to get too drunk to get laid.” Brian took a small sip.  
Roger didn’t respond. Instead he pulled out his phone and checked his Snapchat. The volume was turned all the way up, so Brian could hear some girl’s wild party.  
“That one, Claudia, aye? She’s a pretty one.” The curly-haired man said, messing around with his ponytail.  
Roger stayed silent, but smiled. He snapped a photo of the swell of bodies on the dance floor.  
“She’s one of us? Claudia.” Brian clarified, taking a sip of his drink.  
“Yeah.” Roger said, looking up. “You’ve met her before.”  
“Hm.” Brian mumbled around his drink.  
“That bitch got to him before I did.” John scooted down to the seat next to Roger.  
“Freddie?” Brian asked, confused.  
“Yeah, he got that pretty bloke.” John propped his head on his elbow, watching the blond keep his streaks.  
The trio was silent. Well, as silent as they could be in a crowded, rowdy bar.  
“What are we waiting for?” Roger announced, switching off his phone and tucking it in his back pocket.  
“The perfect moment.” John surveyed the area. He had kept his eye on a few patrons, most notably the brunette with the crop-top and the blond, long-haired man with nice legs.  
Well, they didn’t have to wait for long. Long-haired blond grabbed a few friends and dragged them towards the band.  
“We enjoyed your performance.” Long-haired blond said. Oh, he was American. Roger always did have a thing for American accents.  
“Thank you.” John replied for all of them.  
One of long-haired blond’s friends looked around. “Where’s your frontman? Freddie, right?” He asked.  
Roger twirled a lock of his golden hair around in his fingers. “He’s long gone, mate. Probably already home.” He chuckled.  
The friend seemed visibly excited at Roger calling him mate.  
Brian got up suddenly and disappeared towards the direction of the bathrooms.  
“Rude one, him.” John stabbed a thumb in the way Brian had left.  
Roger snatched his unattended drink and began chugging it.  
“John and Roger, right?” Long-haired blond pointed at them. “Max.” Wait, isn’t that a dog’s name?  
The two in question nodded, expecting Max to handshake or something. He didn’t. Maybe it was an American thing.  
Max and his friends sat down on either side of the rhythm section. The friends chatted amongst themselves quietly.  
Roger hit John’s ankle with his shoe in a way that said: Hell yeah.  
Sirens thrived off of sex and lust. Oh, I didn’t mention that Queen are sirens? Well, now I did. This encounter was a good thing for the rhythm section. It meant that they were to survive another week, maybe.  
Roger turned his drowsy, blue eyes to Max. “Which was your favorite song?”  
Max straightened his back as he thought. “I can’t decide. They were all good.” He said after a moment. He looked down at Roger. “You’re an amazing drummer.”  
The short blond soaked up the praise. He gave a small hum. “Much appreciated.”  
John turned his attention to Max’s friends. One of them seemed to notice this, and introduced himself.  
“Jason. This here is my brother, Kai, and his friend Devon.”  
John didn’t remember who was who. It was too dark to make out too many features. A sudden flash of light illuminated them, but not for long. Devon was dark and tall. (He thought it was Devon.) Jason and Kai looked to be twins, but he couldn’t really tell.  
“I guess you already know who I am.” John gave a little smile, crossing his legs at his ankles.  
“Who doesn’t?” Devon laughed. “John, bassist for Queen. And arguably the hottest one.” The man added more silently, so John couldn’t hear. Jason and Kai laughed. The poofy-haired man cocked his head. Oh, there’s Brian. He brushed past John and his new-found friends. Asshole. He was having trouble handling all three of them by himself.  
Let’s turn our attention back towards Max and Roger.  
“Yeah.” Roger said in response to whatever his interest said. He didn’t care if it made sense or not. This was obviously the right answer, as Max beamed.  
“I tried to play the drums once, but I was horrible and decided I played the keyboard better.” Max confessed, changing the dead-end subject.  
“Not many people as honest as you, Max. I didn’t know so many people in one bar could be so amazing at drums.” Roger giggled, lamenting on his past experiences elsewhere.  
“They were right to try and impress you. You’re a beauty.” Max leaned just slightly closer, anticipating the shorter’s response.  
Roger turned away in faux shyness. “Fucking stop it, you.” He lightly kicked Max’s shin.  
Max turned his head to the side, as if to examine him. Roger let him, training his eyes on the pool table and the people playing. His drowsy, doe eyes turned to Max as he attempted to say something. The taller didn’t say anything, just closed his mouth and watched Roger struggle for something to do next.  
The shorter stood, signaling for Max to do the same. He felt the sexual tension was thick enough. Max jumped up eagerly. Roger hated leaving John alone with three men, but Max was too good to pass up. He could take care of himself. The bassist shot him a slightly panicked look, unsure of how to handle the three men.  
Roger padded towards the hopefully empty bathrooms, Max hot on his heels. The shorter would occasionally send him coy glances over his shoulder, riling him up even more. Roger hoped this was going to be a good shag and not Max coming prematurely from excitement. That happened to Roger once, and he nearly beat the shit out of the offender.  
No one was in the bathrooms, luckily. The both entered, and Max, being smart, locked the huge lock behind them.  
“I can’t believe this is happening.” Max murmured mostly to himself, but the bathroom was empty and his confession echoed.  
“Well, it is. Enjoy it.” Roger grinned, running his tongue along his upper lip.  
“Oh fuck.” Max whispered as Roger closed in on him, their noses nearly touching.  
It was a long, burning hot kiss, one that also got the shorter excited. Sometime during or after the kiss, Roger couldn’t remember, Max tried to bend him over the sink. The shorter resisted, decided to play cat and mouse a little more.  
Roger grabbed at the taller’s shoulder blades, slowly moving his grasp down to his bicep. The drummer purred, feeling the muscle definition of Max’s arm.  
Max was infatuated. His pupils were blown, he reckoned his own were too, and his bottom lip was red from biting it.  
After a while of just feeling around, Roger asked the most important question.  
“Got a condom?” He asked in the least sexiest way possible, and Max laughed softly.  
“Always come prepared.” He said, pulling a condom from somewhere. “But I didn’t know I would be so lucky tonight.”  
Roger sat his phone down on a convenient shelf next to the baby-changing station. Why was there a baby-changing station in a bar? Who knows.  
“Alright, Max, let’s see what we got.” Roger hopped onto the ledge of the sink snd balanced precariously.  
The taller man eagerly unzipped his pants and pulled out his cock, holding it in his hand for a second. Roger spread his legs unconsciously, and Max’s cock jumped at the movement. He was a nice size. It would fill him up, easy.  
Roger slid down from the sink and pulled his pants and boxers off, flinging them somewhere. He unbuttoned the first few buttons on his shirt, but left it at that. Max threw off his Metallica shirt. He had a nice chest, and abs. Roger wasn’t complaining.  
This time, he let Max bend him over the sink. The shorter watched in the mirror as Max stared unabashedly at Roger’s ass for a few heartbeats, before making an effort to spit on the fingers of his left hand. Oh, a lefty.  
“Most men don’t even bother to prepare.” Roger said suddenly, meeting Max’s eyes in the mirror.  
“Yeah.” Max murmured absentmindedly. The shorter smiled, knowing he hadn’t even registered his statement.  
The taller slipped a finger inside of him, and Roger took a involuntary deep breath.  
“Holy fuck.” It was a comment on his tightness. Max wiggled his finger inside of him, and the drummer gasped, his flat-footed stance changing to one on his toes. A pang of dry heat traveled through his body, and he sighed contentedly.  
He thrusted his finger for a minute or two, each slow drag building his excitement even more.  
Two fingers. Three. Roger moaned, arching his back and clutching the faucet. Max was also excited now, his cock rubbing against the place where his thigh met his ass.  
“Fuck me!” Roger gasped as those fingers rubbed accidentally against his prostate, sending a jolt of burning electricity through him. The cheap faucet was having a hard time coping with the pressure of his hands.  
Max quickly drew his fingers out of his hole, rolling a condom down his cock. Roger felt empty for a split-second, before the tip of his penis pushed against him.  
Roger had tried a lot of toys, but nothing quite compared to a real man. Holy shit. Roger hoped he would never get used to the feeling. Even though Max had a condom on, the heat and texture of his cock was so real he had to double check if Max was even wearing a condom.  
“E-extra thin?” Roger guessed as Max pushed in all the way to the hilt. His words dissolved into a small groan.  
“You guessed right.” Max said breathily, rubbing small circles into Roger’s hip. He waited for a word of confirmation to go ahead. Wow, Max truly was a keeper. Most men don’t wait either.  
“Holy shit, holy shit, fuck me please!” Roger babbled after a minute.  
Max lowered his head so he was level with his ear. “Don’t worry, baby, I’ll fuck you so hard you’ll be screaming my name.” He growled, sending a shiver down Roger’s spine.  
He drew almost all the way out, before slamming himself back in. Roger sobbed and grabbed at anything in his proximity. The sink ledge, his own hair, Max, the faucet again.  
The taller man raised Roger’s shirt and nipped at his spine as he thrusted. It was so good, Roger felt like crying. Roger was babbling again, about his size, about how good it felt, about how hot this was, about how he was going to feel this for weeks after, about how he wanted more, please. Max seemed to enjoy this, the absent-minded begging, and he fucked him as fast as he possibly could. The top moaned over the talking, running a hand through his hair.  
“You like this, huh? You like being fucked like the pretty little slut you are?” Max asked with a small moan, and Roger whined. Like a dog.  
“Yes! Oh fuck, I do! Please, dammit- oh, oh, oh.” Each drag against his prostate pushed him closer and closer to the edge.  
Someone was banging on the door and wanting to go to the bathroom, but neither of them cared.  
Max watched Roger in the mirror, the smaller man’s nice lips in the perfect O and his eyes towards the heavens. Max reached around to jack him off, and Roger bucked wildly, mewling.  
“Oh please! Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God-“ Roger shouted as he came, breaking off his sentence. He went lax as he shot on Max’s hand, who was approaching his climax too.  
“What do you want?” Max posed the question, pulling out.  
“Come on my face, please.” Roger murmured.  
“Such good manners.”  
Roger got up, a little hesitantly, as he was sore, and kneeled in front of Max. “Please.” He whispered again, opening his mouth a fraction but keeping his big, doe eyes open. Roger at least remembered to brush his hair out of the way.  
Max eagerly jacked himself off, moaning something about how hot Roger was like that. He peeled off the condom right before he came, blowing his load all over Roger’s face.  
The smaller opened his eyes after it was done with, tongue peeking out to lick some come up. Max gave one last moan, before tucking himself back inside his pants.  
“Holy fuck.” The taller said, surveying the wreck that was Roger. He at least had the courtesy to hand Roger a paper towel.  
“Thanks.” Roger grumbled, wiping his face down. “Why did I ask you to come on my face again?” He didn’t remember the exact reason why.  
“I dunno, but it was hot. Thanks for supplying my wank bank for a few more years.”  
Roger snorted, standing, throwing away the paper towel, and looking for his underwear and pants.  
“Fucking the hot drummer of Queen; a documentary.” He said with a sigh and a flourish of his hands. He flinched as his own Metallica shirt hit him the the face. Max let it drop as he watched Roger bend at the waist to collect his garments. The taller man let out a interested grunt.  
“Not again, at least, not today. Let me have your number?” Roger asked as Max washed his hands.  
“Sure.” He mumbled as Roger pulled on his pants as fast as he could, flicking his hands dry. He preferred to use as little paper towels as possible, if none at all.  
They exchanged numbers. With a wink, Roger unlocked the door and padded away, leaving a dumbstruck, shirtless Max in the restroom. He only realized he was shirtless as a man came into the room and gave him an odd look. Max quickly pulled on his shirt and left the restroom.  
He couldn’t find his friends, John, or Roger. Oh well. His phone buzzed in his hand and thinking it was Jason, Kai, or Devon, he looked at it. He had a missed call from his mom, but he’ll fix that later. What intrigued him most was a text.

Rog❤️👅😘🍆: next thursday?


End file.
